


Salutations

by MouseyMiss



Series: Pupok's Tales [1]
Category: Orphan Black
Genre: Blasphemy, Child Abuse, Gen, Typical Helena Warnings, scorpions, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MouseyMiss/pseuds/MouseyMiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It is quite possible that an animal has spoken to me and that I didn't catch the remark because I wasn't paying attention.” <br/>― E.B. White, Charlotte's Web</p><p>First of a series. Helena meets Pupok for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salutations

The first time she saw her, she was four years old, curled up on the floor of her room, crying. She did something very, very bad, and Sister Olga yelled. She always yelled, but this time, she yelled more. And she hit. Not with her hand, like she usually did. Not with the stick that went whack across her fingers, always followed by Sister Olga hissing, "Don't touch," in her ear. No. This time, she hit with a belt. Over and over and over. And it hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. Her legs hurt. Her bottom hurt. The little bumps the belt left hurt, even when she wasn't touching them. Maybe she would hurt forever. 

She pushed herself off the floor, onto her hands and knees. Crawling across the stones, she curled into the room's corner, opposite the door. Hugging her knees, she rocked, back and back and forth. That hurt, too, and she whimpered. It always made her feel better before. Now what was she supposed to do?

The memory of the bad thing she'd done banged around inside her head. They were at Mass, and she was kneeling beside Sister Olga, watching the shiny silver plate with the special bread going by, carried by the priest. The bread was very special, and she wasn't supposed to touch it, or the plate, till she was older, then she could. She wasn't supposed to touch the big cup going around, either, or the wine in it, till she was older, too, but that was alright. The wine did not smell good. 

This morning, the bread looked different. Dusty, like the hard dirt outside where she played sometimes, sitting next to the kitchen's door, while Sister Olga worked. This morning, the bread looked hard. The priest almost could not tear it, to hand bits of it to the sisters. When the dirt was hard, she dumped water from her cup on it, and then it was soft. Maybe water would make the bread soft, too. She picked up her water cup--Sister Olga let her have a cup of water during Mass, so she would not ask to go and get a drink, because all the singing made her thirsty--and, as the plate of bread came by, she dumped the water onto it. There, now the priest could tear it. 

Nobody said anything for a long time. Nobody moved for a long time. They just stared at her, till her face got hot, and she looked for a corner to hide in. Before she found one, Sister Olga picked her up and carried her out. 

Back in her room, Sister Olga yelled as she hit. The nun said, she was a bad girl. The nun said, she was a wicked evil child. The nun said, she had blasphemed God. When she'd asked what that meant, Sister Olga had smacked her mouth, then kept hitting her with the belt. Finally, the nun stopped hitting, stopped yelling, and left the room, locking its door behind her. 

Now, she rocked, even though it hurt. Maybe if she was very very sorry, God would forgive her, like Sister Olga said when she left. Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe. But probably not. 

Something skittered in the other corner. She whimpered again, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her hands over her ears. Maybe it was the rats coming to get her. They came in her room at night sometimes and stood around her bed. They said, they would carry her home and eat her for supper. Sister Olga said that was nonsense, that she was having a bad dream. She said, stop whining and go back to bed. But now the rats had finally come for her. Maybe God sent them, because of the very bad thing she'd done. 

The scratching noise came closer. She opened one eye. It wasn't the rats. It was a big black bug, a scorpion--she saw one by the well last winter and learned the word-- with one two three four five six seven eight legs, and one two big claws, like the lobster in the book Sister Olga showed her once, and a very very big tail, with a little sharp point at the end, like the needle the village doctor used, when Sister Olga took her to get a shot when she was smaller. Because she did not cry very much, Sister Olga let her watch the festival happening in the village for a few minutes from the old motorbike they took to town. All the girls wore pretty dresses, and flowers in their hair, and all the food smelled so good, she soon forgot to think about her arm hurting. 

Now, seeing the big bug's stinger--like the bee's that poked her finger last summer because she touched it after Sister Olga said no--she remembered the shot, and touched her arm. Maybe the big bug would sting her. Maybe it would eat her, instead of the rats. Maybe, this was what God had sent to punish her. 

She squeezed her eyes shut again. "Please don't eat me, please don't eat me, please don't eat me! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm--" 

The scorpion came closer and closer and closer. It crawled up her foot. Her leg. It sat on her knee. And then, the scorpion said, "I'm not going to eat you, silly. I don't eat people," and the scorpion laughed. 

"You're not?" Helena asked, looking at it. 

"No. I'm not. I only eat other bugs. And sometimes rats." 

Helena pointed to its stinger. "What about that?"

"I only use that if somebody's mean to me. Like Sister Olga was mean to you." 

Helena shook her head. "She wasn't mean to me. I was bad. I deserved it." 

The scorpion turned around a few times on her knee, clicking and purring, like the old cat that lived in the barn. "You don't seem bad to me. What did you do?" 

Helena told it about the bread and the dirt and the water. "Sister Olga says if I am very very sorry, God will forgive me, but I don't know."

The scorpion looked at her. "Why not? She's a nun, isn't she? If she says God will forgive you, He will."

Helena chewed her lip. Maybe the scorpion was right. Sister Olga knew everything, so surely she would know if God would forgive her or not. 

Unless the scorpion was bad. Like the snake in the Bible. But that was silly. The scorpion did not lie, only said what Sister Olga said. And Sister Olga did not lie. 

The scorpion patted her knee with one of its feet. "Trust me, kiddo. I know these things." 

Helena sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Promise?" she asked the scorpion. 

And the scorpion said, "Promise." It walked down her leg, off her foot, and started for the other corner. 

"No!" Helena reached for it. "No, please. I don't want to be by myself." 

Turning, the scorpion walked back, tail waving. This time, it crawled up her arm and sat on her shoulder. "You have a name, yes?" It said. 

Helena nodded. Said "Yes," and said, "Helena," when the scorpion asked. "What's your name?" Helena asked. 

"I don't have one," said the scorpion. "Will you give me one? I bet you're great at naming things." 

Helena looked at the scorpion. It was black and shiny. It made her feel happy, and safe. It made her think of the little hole in her stomach, which always got dirt in it, dirt black like the scorpion, that Sister Olga said was her belly button. When she was very small, she did not talk, only made noises, and belly button was the first word she'd said after Sister Olga said it, and the nun had smiled so big Helena wondered if her face would break. She smiled more when Helena said her first word by herself, God, but of course she could not name the scorpion that, and Sister Olga's smile over belly button was the first time she remembered the woman smiling at her. 

"Well?" said the scorpion. 

And Helena said, "Pupok." 

And the scorpion smiled and said, "I knew you could do it, Helena." 

Later that night--after she'd gone to confession, and the priest had absolved her, just like Pupok said--the scorpion walked across her bed and curled up on her pillow. "Don't worry, kiddo. The rats won't bother you while I'm around." 

Petting the scorpion, Helena fell asleep.


End file.
